AfterMARK, Part 3

Now… it’s Complicated

The next morning, I faced my first bout of Post-Date Stress Disorder (or PDSD). What was I to make of a cuddle session with someone who was supposed to be my friend? I wondered what I would do when he called or texted. Was it still supposed to be normal? Would it get weirder?

Jack didn’t do or say anything out of the ordinary. Regular “How was your day?” small talk continued along with witty banter about web comics. Things weren’t off too much, but they were definitely off.

As problems with his roommate worsened, Jack decided it was time to move out. As a friendly gesture, I offered to help. That’s what friends do, right? I told myself.

“You know, I could really use a pickup,” he texted me. I offered my father’s truck and we worked out a time the next day.

Seeing as neither of us is particularly muscular, the move took a little more effort than you would think. Loading up everything from the tiny duplex, we made our way over to his new place. Upon my entry, I was taken aback at how beautiful the whole thing was. Vaulted ceilings. A real fireplace. A breakfast nook! It was beautiful.

The evening ended with a hug and a warm-hearted goodbye.

Things continued more normally than I could have ever anticipated. There were even some friendly on campus run-ins between classes. Later that week, after a bad day at work, he offered to take me to dinner and I only slightly hesitated as I agreed to it.

Going into it as a real date definitely helped. Even as the waitress at the Chinese restaurant seated us in the same room as a guy from my stake on a date of his own, I felt oddly at ease. We talked mostly about school and the beginning of a new semester.

“It’s about the same. I keep busy with 18 credits and work. It makes me feel accomplished and like I’m actually going somewhere.”

“That’s good. How’s the new roommate situation working out?” I asked.

“It’s the regular struggle. I’m still getting to know them.”

“How is it living with a bunch of gay boys?”

“It got crazy last weekend, but my room’s far enough from the chaos to get away.”

I laughed off his slight discontent with the situation as the check came. He snatched it despite my protest.

“You helped me move. I owe you at least this.”

Moments later, we found ourselves at his place. We sat there on the couch continuing our conversation. Our bodies, however, were speaking their own language. We found ourselves moving closer to the center. Usually wary of any tactile contact, I found myself touching Jack on the arm, looking into his eyes (blue as the night sky), smiling, and laughing at his jokes.

Then, in an instant, he pulled away, looked at me, and smiled before going in for a kiss. It was sweet and reminded me of my first taste of romance with Mark.

I flashed back in an instant to the kiss that had felt like:
a singer’s first standing ovation,
a swimmer’s first broken record,
an author’s first book sent to print.

Would you ask any of them to take that piece of their lives back?

It was a feeling engraved upon the tablets of memory standing up to the elements and other tests of time. Every kiss would be compared against that one. It wasn’t quite that same warm sensation. An awkwardness came between us akin to the irritating, clunky friction of our teeth repeatedly bumping into each other as we made out.

The chemistry slowly dissipated from the room as we found ourselves staring each other. He faced me on my lap. An awkward silence preceded a forgotten excuse to get home and the night ended.

What followed was not glamorous. Our run-ins on campus consisted of greetings and now-awkward small talk and we never looked each other in the eyes again.

In the coming week, however, I stopped worrying about the awkwardness as two more men entered the picture: an actor and a cowboy.

End, Part 3.

Clue: AfterMARK references something from 1983-85.